Survival
by AthenasHoliday
Summary: AU. Follows "Stranded." Bits and pieces of Chloe and Oliver's time on the island. Lots of allusions to Smallville canon (that are now no longer valid i.e. the relationship with Jimmy). Rated T for now.
1. Gratitude: Glass Half-Empty

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville… but I _do _own a gorgeous Apple desktop and a vivid imagination. Ponder that.

Summary: AU. Follows "Stranded." Bits and pieces of Chloe and Oliver's time on the island. Lots of allusions to Smallville canon (that are now no longer valid i.e. the relationship with Jimmy). Rated T for now.

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Survival

Part 1: Gratitude

Chapter 1: Glass Half-Empty

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"Did you find anything to eat?" Chloe wondered as she returned to their makeshift camp.

Oliver looked up from his new-made fire-pit. Setting down a pair of sticks he'd been rubbing over a pile of dried twigs and leaves, he attempted a grin. "Some fruit, mostly. But it's not plentiful. And I don't trust some of the berries here – I've never seen them before. I figure we shouldn't risk it unless we see other animals eating some."

"So meat's our best bet, then."

He nodded in reply, turning back to his sticks with a huff of irritation. Stifling a laugh, Chloe knelt next to her messenger bag. Digging through it a moment, she found her prize. Biting her lips, she tossed it by his side. "I think that might work better."

Quirking a brow at the box of matches, he shook his head. "What the hell else is in that bag of yours?" he muttered. He lit a match and set the small pile of kindling alight. Feeding the flame with larger pieces of wood, he asked, "Did you find somewhere to fill up your water bottle?"

She held the full bottle up in a classic Vanna White pose. "Yeah, a stream further in. Fresh, running water – just what we need." Chloe passed it to him so he could drink. After setting the bottle down between them, he handed her some fruit. They fell into comfortable silence as they ate.

Scooting closer to the fire, Chloe noted the new chill in the air as the sun fell lower on the horizon. Sadly, their camp of bare necessities had taken up most of the day. The terror of the night before and their sleepy states were the only excuses for the lackadaisical approach to survival. Tomorrow. They would approach it differently tomorrow.

Her eyes went wide. "Where will we sleep?"

"Hm?" He looked up, and shrugged. "It's not so cold out."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "It will get much colder. And even if it's just a bit chilly, a night sleeping out unprotected from the elements could get either of us sick. That could get really serious out here without resources. Plus, who knows what sorts of animals are here on the island?"

"Wow, Debbie-downer. Are you always this pessimistic?" Oliver asked, amused despite himself.

"Pragmatism is a virtue on days like today," she replied readily. Standing, Chloe began gathering leaves and palm fronds to make a mattress for them. Oliver dragged up the inflatable raft, leaning it against a tree so it formed a crude lean-to over the mattress.

"Is that alright for now?" the billionaire asked.

She sent him a smile. "Yes – but, uh…" He put a warm hand on her shoulder. Looking up at him with her green eyes glowing in the firelight, Chloe babbled, "There's not a lot of space under there, you know – of course, the body heat's a good thing in these conditions, I suppose. If a little intimate. And what are we going to do about a latrine?"

"Excuse me?" he wondered, startled. He had thought he was following her train of thought – a case of girlish nervousness towards intimacy – until that last question derailed him. "What about latrines? And what does that have to do with…?" He gestured to the lean-to.

Chloe shook her head at her own run-away mouth. "Something that just occurred to me. I mean, so far it's been camping rules – pee where you will and dig a little trough for anything more – but surely a latrine of sorts will be better in the long run?"

"We don't even know how long we'll be here," Oliver pointed out.

She nodded. "Exactly. This is the middle of the Pacific. _We_ don't even know where we are – how will anyone else? I'm sorry for taking the glass half-empty view, but the whole situation does not look promising." His hand began to rub away at the tension in her shoulder. The girl seemed to deflate. "In a few weeks, I'll have a good long cry over it and you can comfort me then. In the meantime, I'll be gloomily realistic."

Oliver pulled her close, until her head rested against his chest. Rubbing her back, he murmured, "The sun's setting. Why don't we hit the sack now, so we can face tomorrow with clear heads. In the morning, we can go over our plans. Maybe I can even put my bow and arrows to the test and try to hunt us down some grub." Chloe sighed as he guided her inside the lean-to. Following her in, he settled on the more exposed side with his bow and arrows close at hand, hemming her in against the orange raft. The two faced each other in the small space.

"Are you warm enough?" Oliver asked, concerned now that she had brought up the possibility of illness. The girl shrugged a shoulder. "Come here," he said with a half-smile, wrapping an arm around the little blonde. She still hadn't said anything, and he wondered how he could make her feel safe and… cherished. That was the word she had used a few weeks ago, wasn't it?

The last time he'd felt that way was when his parents were alive. After work, his father would take him outside so they could practice archery. On the way in to dinner, he'd sometimes ride on his father's shoulders and his mother would kiss her husband, teasing about a strange growth he'd developed on his head and shoulders. Dinner was always warm and happy, filled with light conversation and a delicious meal. And at night, his mother would tuck him into bed with a story – usually Robin Hood.

Leaning in close so his breath fluttered the hair above her ear, he whispered, "Shall I tell you a bedtime story, Sidekick?" Chloe tilted her head to send him a look of incredulity. He chuckled. "I'm serious. When's the last time you or I had a bedtime story? I figure we need it. Tell you what, I'll tell you one tonight if you tell me one tomorrow." She nodded her head beneath his chin, biting back a smile.

"Well, in merry old England during the rule of Henry the Second, there lived a famous outlaw called Robin Hood. He was the best archer in all the land. And tonight, you'll learn how he became an outlaw." After the death of his parents, Oliver had pored over the book every year until the pages were worn thin. Remembering the stories wasn't difficult at all. "When he was eighteen…"

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A/N:

Please note that the final paragraph above is a slight paraphrase of the first paragraph of Howard Pyle's _The Adventures of Robin Hood_.


	2. Gratitude: Shades of Amazing

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville… but I _do _own a gorgeous Apple desktop and a vivid imagination. Ponder that.

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Survival

Part 1: Gratitude

Chapter 2: Shades of Amazing

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Chloe opened her eyes to glaring, orange plastic. The life-raft.

She and Oliver had spent their first day on the island dealing with only the most obvious of necessities. After a spell of brooding and then the obligatory playful roughhousing, they had dedicated themselves to the task of surviving before finally retreating beneath the raft lean-to to sleep.

Chloe smiled, recalling his whispered storytelling, and turned to face the solid warmth against her side. She was tucked into him as she had been the night before, one long arm about her body. What had felt safe and warm then, felt a little too _intimate_ in the light of morning – especially with his shirt unbuttoned. The skin was lightly tanned like the rest of him seemed to be, and like his arms (which she had often admired before) his chest and abs were muscled. Clearly, he had a gym membership – or whatever the billionaire equivalent was.

She snorted softly to herself. She was staring. As much as she enjoyed looking at attractive guys, she hated how limp and gooey she got over it sometimes. It's not like trailing after Clark ever developed into a romantic relationship. Maybe she's just one of those people who always gets overlooked by the men she's actually attracted to.

Judging from two years of high school, her future love life will fall in one of a few categories: unrequited feelings á la Clark, nice guy who's nice and all _but_…, or the Justin Gaines classic. Chloe shuddered, remembering the growl of a chainsaw. Even knocked out, the sound had filtered into her mind _and_ into all the nightmares afterward. Why did obsessive, murdering metahuman stalkers always seem so charming at first? And attentive? And interesting?

She wrinkled her nose. New rule of thumb: guys that show eager interest in her are clearly insane (or getting there). And guys like Clark who – romantically – are practically Chloe-phobic, those are the ones worth getting. Not that they'd be interested, though. Maybe one day she'll just wind up despairing of true love and choose to settle down with somebody _nice_ – someone that's more friend than lover.

Chloe winced at the thought. Would she ever become so jaded?

A bolt of shame flashed through her. Hadn't she been hoping for a summer fling to get Clark off her mind? Someone to get rid of her virginity and make her feel desired for once? Chloe shook the thought off. The girl _knew_ she would have regretted it. In spite of the hard shell of pragmatism, snark, and ambition, Chloe still had a soft underbelly. She wanted true love, a home of her own, and eventually a few kids that she could cuddle and encourage – and with the Lane genes at work – inevitably pull out of trouble. All that and a Pulitzer.

Chloe couldn't believe that she had been planning to share her body with a guy she barely knew. With her luck, he'd have been just as inexperienced as her – adding up to no orgasm _and_ no emotional connection. Thank god for Oliver, in spite of the whole stranded-on-an-island thing.

A surge of gratitude swelled up in her. He'd saved her from more than just Lionel's schemes – he'd also saved her from her own. If she had to be alone on an island with somebody, Chloe was glad it was him. Oliver Queen was a man willing to give up some of his vices for her, whisper Robin Hood stories before bed, and save her from billionaires, pirates, and herself. It didn't hurt either that his body was prime ogling material. All in all though…

_Wow. In person he's really… wow._

One side of Oliver's lips curled upwards. "I appreciate the compliment."

Green eyes met brown. "Oh_ shit_, I said that? You were awake?" She groaned, hand to her forehead.

"Hey now, don't get worked up about it," Oliver smiled, pulling her hand from her face.

"It's embarrassing! I don't _do_ blatant appreciation! Especially not ogling!" Under her breath, she muttered, "Not often, anyways."

He quirked a brow. "How do you expect to be looked at unless you show someone you're looking? No, don't shake your head, Chloe… Think about it. Men aren't superhuman, we don't instinctively know if a woman's interested. _And_ we aren't all confident enough to stick our necks out when we might be unwelcome."

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like something Lois always says: go out into the world exuding vibes of awesome, and awesome things and people will come to you."

"Well, when you feel great, you look great, and that's something people are attracted to, I guess." Thinking of her cousin, Oliver laughed. "I get the feeling that when I meet your cousin, we'll either be antagonistic friends or best bros."

She smirked. "Don't kid yourself. With Lois, you can be both at once – or you guys might end up dating."

"Nah," he shrugged off. "I think if I met her on my own, we might have had a relationship for a time, but anything lasting? No. I've gotten to know her pretty well through your stories, I think, and while her bull-headedness would be endearing in a friend, it would be disastrous in a romantic partner. No offense to your cousin, but I appreciate an open mind just as much as I appreciate nerve. I prefer your brand of moxie."

A flicker of hurt washed over her eyes. "Don't patronize me, Oliver," Chloe frowned as she scooted herself out of the lean-to. Bemused, he followed, pulling his archery equipment out as he went.

"What do you mean?" he asked, concerned by her abrupt change in mood.

She sighed. "I _mean_ that it's my brand of moxie that landed me in this mess in the first place – _not_ that I don't appreciate it. This is paradise compared to the wreckage my life would've been under Lionel's thumb. Still. My choices – my bullheadedness – landed me in Lionel Luthor's sandbox. I tried to play with the big boys, even when I knew I couldn't handle it."

The girl paused for breath, looking up at him with agonized green eyes. "It's… you mean to compliment me, I know. You probably picked up from my stories that, while I love my cousin, I've always felt inadequate in comparison. She can do something completely crazy and have it work out. She can do anything. I… I appreciate the attempt at complimenting me, but the quirks you depreciate in Lois are in me too."

"Hardly." Seeing her lips open again, Oliver placed his hand over mouth. Looking down at the petite blond sternly, he remarked, "May I speak now? Good." He shook his head. "Chloe, pay attention. I'd rather not have to have this conversation every morning, but I will if you don't listen up." Her eyes were focused on his, looking for something, hoping for something.

"I don't know your cousin personally, so I can't judge her. But I can tell how much you love her, which means your stories about her were told with fond regard with no intention of misrepresentation. From what I've gleaned, Lois Lane is badass, brash, busty, bull-headed…" his eyes softened at Chloe's alliteration-inspired smile "…and a whole bunch of other 'b' words that add up to the one person in your life who loves you completely and would do anything for you. And, frankly, Lois Lane sounds like an amazing young woman.

"But, you, Chloe – you are just as amazing. You were driven by desperation when you snuck into my office for an interview. From everything I know about you, you'd normally have gone through official channels out of respect for my personal privacy… You may investigate the local meteor infected and publish your findings in the Torch, but while some of it might be indiscreet, you never write anything untrue… You may have bias in one direction or another, but you're willing to explore other points of view.

"I doubt Lois would have been so understanding of my vices or have success in nudging me into giving them up… Chloe, you care so much about people that you neglect yourself. You excused Clark and Lana for their thoughtlessness when you vilify yourself for almost betraying them to Lionel.

"You're also prudent. Compared to your cousin who goes through with her crazy plans and succeeds by the seat of her pants, you make plans that can work for us mere mortals, with proof and layouts and back-ups. More cautious and less costly, in spite of all the meteor-infected hijinks you've been drawn into.

"You're a different shade of amazing, Sidekick. Not as obvious, perhaps, as your cousin, but much easier to live and grow with." He slid his hand away from her mouth slowly, looking at her with a mock expression of resignation. "You may proceed."

Pushing a stray strand of hair behind one ear, she stared at him. "First of all, _wow_. Are speeches a boardroom-skill of yours? Have you ever considered running for office?"

Oliver ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "I didn't mean to get as preachy as I did." A smile curled his lips. "And is this supposed to be an interview? Sorry, continue."

Chloe rolled her eyes with more emphasis than she felt. Strangely, she felt a bit like giggling – _giggling_! What's the world coming to? She shook the thought loose. "It was an interesting metaphor, your 'shade of awesome.' So, equating people to colors, what colors would we be?"

"Well, I've never gotten this question before – I usually get 'boxers or briefs?' or 'blondes or brunettes?'" His smirk softened to a smile under her chiding glance. "Your cousin sounds like the color red – passionate, violent, energized, and endlessly stubborn. Like the clichéd bull that charges at the color, she's unstoppable but easily blindsided.

"You, you're green. Just as powerful, but less aggressive. You're not the type to hit someone head-on, you examine the who, what, how, and why. As much as you look to bring awareness with the truth, you seek to share new perspectives. You're more fluid than Lois, adapting to things in ways she cannot. I get the feeling that whatever happens and however much she grows up, Lois will always be Lois. But you can reinvent yourself, Chloe – better and better each time."

Silence and a smile.

"And you?" the girl wondered softly. "What about you?"

"Me?" Oliver wondered. "I don't know. Personally, I'd _like_ to be green. Favorite color and all," he deflected with a grin.

"Ollie." Chloe slipped her hand in his. "You can reinvent yourself – you've already started. Let's be green together."

He ducked his head. This girl. He's in a situation that could prove fatal… and this girl makes him grateful for it. The chance to get to know her on an even deeper level. The chance to fix himself up before he ruins his life permanently – no more drugs, drinks, or women.

Maybe just a woman, then? Chloe came to mind.

Well, that didn't _quite_ qualify, did it? She was only sixteen for one thing – that's practically pedophilic! And for another, Oliver cared too much about her to ever treat her like he had the string of women he used for self-gratification. Ha! There's a word! Those women had indulged his self-gratification, and now this green-eyed slip of a girl was teaching him gratitude. What a heavy debt he'll owe her when all is said and done.

"I'd like that a lot, Sidekick. So tell me, what do green people do when they're stranded on an island?"

Chloe squeezed his hand. "They adapt. They survive. And they grow stronger."

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A/N:

Sorry for Oliver's excessive pep talk. Because, yes, it was excessive. _No one_ talks like that in real life… But Chloe needed an ego boost pronto so she can go on to kick ass without the toughening influence and/or confidence boost of two years of Smallville's gauntlet of Kryptonite hijinks and emotional rejection. That's my explanation.


	3. Gratitude: Hero

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville… but I _do _own a gorgeous Apple desktop and a vivid imagination. Ponder that.

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Survival

Part 1: Gratitude

Chapter 3: Hero

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"_I'd like that a lot, Sidekick. So tell me, what do green people do when they're stranded on an island?"_

_Chloe squeezed his hand. "They adapt. They survive. And they grow stronger."_

"Sounds good," Oliver remarked, swinging their joined hands lightly as he led them to the fire-pit. "It's time we buckled down and made this island our playground. Why don't we start by going over our supplies – namely the emergency box from the ship and the mysterious contents of your rather large purse."

Pulling the two containers close to where they sat, Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Not a purse – a messenger _bag_. If it's dainty, sparkly, or shiny, _then_ it's a purse."

"Whatever you say," he grinned.

"Hey, Ollie?" Chloe ventured, abandoning her bag to look up at him as he dug through the emergency box.

"Hm?"

"If I'm your Sidekick, does that mean you're my Hero?" That joke had deepened into seriousness quickly. But Chloe didn't mind the label so much – maybe because Oliver meant it differently than most. It wasn't just about how she could assist _him. _Every time he called her 'Sidekick,' she could see it – the label placed her firmly under his protection. Why not make it official?

He set aside the box and gazed back at her steadily. "That's a lot of trust you're investing in me, Chloe. I might not… I might fail you. And I wouldn't be able to handle it if that happened."

"That's not a no…" she mused. "And for the record, I don't put this measure of trust in people without good reason. You're one of three – Clark, Lois, and you. Friend. Cousin. And partner. We agreed to be partners yesterday, didn't we? And a sidekick is useless without a hero. It's a fair exchange. You save me, I'll save you."

Slinging an arm over her shoulders, he tugged her close enough to lean his head against hers. "You sure? Without my _rescue_, you wouldn't be marooned here."

"Oh, definitely." A playful expression slid over her face. "High school was holding me back, you know." She paused, considering. "Actually, with all the meteor freaks, I might be much safer here."

Oliver's pulse quickened at the thought. "Let's not think about all those brushes with death right now, please. I like to think of you safe and whole – physically, mentally, _and_ emotionally." Perhaps she _was_ better off here with him than back home where her emotional needs were largely neglected.

"Sounds like someone's made a decision," she grinned.

"Yes, Sidekick," he breathed into her blonde hair. "I'll be your Hero."

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A/N:

Short and sweet. Possibly cavity-inducing.


	4. Identity: Smarts

Disclaimer: While this story _does_ belong to me, all the bits that aren't creative license and authorial presentation _do not_. So… yeah.

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Survival

Part 2: Identity

Chapter 1: Smarts

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"Okay, so that's all of the supplies we have…" Oliver remarked, casting a memorizing glance over the assortment laid out on the beach. "Anything else?"

Chloe bit her lip. "Yes."

He cocked his head. "Really? Your bag looks pretty empty."

"Not that kind of asset," she amended. The billionaire looked puzzled. Gesticulating, the girl remarked, "Think of survival as a team sport or a dangerous mission. We know what we _have_, now what can be _do_. What are our abilities, our specialties? What can you do that I cannot, and vice versa?"

Oliver grinned wryly. "Well so far it looks like I'm the brawns and you're the brains."

The girl gave him a chastising smack on the arm. "It's not that simple, Hero. Different kinds of smarts." She pursed her lips a moment as she began to gather up the spread objects from the beach. "My brand of smarts works best from a distance, where I have a more objective view and can consider all the possibilities. Yours is better suited to improvisation. You can make decisions on a dime without second-guessing yourself, and even if the choice is wrong, your physical abilities are more likely to get you through it unscathed."

"I see what you mean." Oliver considered their differences for a moment then raised his brow. "Does that mean I'll literally go out everyday to secure us some bacon while you become Susie Homemaker?"

Chloe winced at the idea, feminist principles offended. "I guess. It seems… sensible." She shook her head. "But that doesn't mean I'm incapable! I can gather fruit, make a hut or something, keep the fire going so we won't waste matches, cook the food…"

Oliver pulled her into a half-hug. "I know. You're going to be busy providing, too. Keep in mind that just because we're more suited to certain kinds of work doesn't mean we can't mix it up sometimes." Chloe ducked her head to hide her smile. "Besides, I think it'd be a good idea to teach you some of what I know. Have you ever tried yoga?"

"Yoga?" she asked him, confused.

He nodded, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Really great for you – I'm working on doing a handstand." Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Then what about Tai Chi? I took a few classes at my university's rec center. It's just slowed down martial arts."

"Maybe."

His eyes grew serious. "At the very least, I'm going to teach you how to use my bow and arrows. You need to know how to use the weapons we have on hand. I'll also need to set aside time each day to practice. It's been awhile since I practiced archery – my aim's probably off."

"Take the time you need," she replied, tone subdued. "We need you in top condition if we're going to make it."

He stared at her. "I hope you're not implying that you're worth less than me here." Chloe shrugged. "Sidekick. What reason would I have _to_ survive if you weren't here? And if I was alone and I did choose to survive, I'd still be a mess. If I made it back to civilization, I'd probably join a cult or something."

Chloe laughed. "Sorry, I just pictured you in a satanic cult – robes and all! I'm telling you, Ollie, black nail polish doesn't work on you."

"I should hope not."

"You know, we should probably learn to make our own arrows – the ones from the ship can't last us forever," Chloe pointed out. He nodded agreement. "Also, I think we should move inland a bit. It's more protected from the weather, closer to freshwater, and easier to find building materials. We should also explore the island more. We assume we're alone here, but we don't _know_. It would also give us a better idea of what we have to work with survival-wise."

"By all means, Sidekick, let's go for a stroll."

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A/N:

And they're off!

Please be aware that each part of Survival (i.e. Gratitude and Identity) will happen within its own increment of time (though in chronological order).


	5. Identity: Family

Disclaimer: While this story _does_ belong to me, all the bits that aren't creative license and authorial presentation _do not_. So… yeah.

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Survival

Part 2: Identity

Chapter 2: Family

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"Why do you always refer to yourself as a Lane, Sidekick?" Oliver called out from a patch of bushes about fifteen meters away.

After using his bow and arrows to 'spear' fish for the day's meals, he'd finally started digging the latrine a decent distance from where Chloe had begun constructing their more permanent camp. A few days ago they'd gotten serious about ensuring their survival, making plans, going over assets, and going 'house hunting.' They'd since decided to build their permanent shelter in the little clearing not far from the stream Chloe'd found the other day.

"Hm?" the girl wondered, too busy laying out 'carpeting' for the hut-to-be to pay attention.

"I asked why you always refer to yourself as a Lane, not a Sullivan," Oliver repeated, setting down the flat rock he'd been using to dig the latrine. Taking a break, he walked over to his partner and helped spread the palm fronds more evenly around the fire-pit.

"Well," Chloe considered slowly, "I guess there's more Lane in me than Sullivan."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that… if my Uncle Sam were in our situation, he'd pull out his SAT phone, call up the nearest military base, and browbeat the Navy Seals into picking him up. And while he waits for them to show, he'd puff on one of his Cuban cigars as he sits on the beach."

Oliver tried to bite back his amusement. Chloe sent him a knowing glance – she could tell how much he wanted to laugh. "And your cousins?"

"Lucy would have _joined_ the pirates, most likely through blackmail or bribery. She'd become their teenage pirate queen." Oliver raised an incredulous brow. "No really. From what I've heard from Lois, Lucy has the makings of an excellent con artist."

"Okay… WWLD?"

Chloe smiled. "What would Lois do? She'd make this island her bitch. Most likely by finding a native society or lost civilization that would end up worshipping her as their goddess."

"_Of course_. And we both know what Chloe 'Lane' Sullivan would do – adapt and persevere." Oliver squeezed her shoulder. "So what would Gabe _Sullivan_ do?"

She shrugged, sighing. "That's the thing – I don't know. I can't even picture Dad in a situation as _bizarre_ as this. He's never even left Kansas! He works, he eats, he sleeps. And he makes corny jokes. But he's not cut out for the unexpected. Frankly, he seems completely satisfied with normality."

Oliver nodded. "And that's where you see the major difference between Sullivan and Lane. The mediocre versus the extraordinary – maybe even as ignorance versus enlightenment."

"I suppose," she conceded. "But it's not that simple, is it? Dad's just a man, and even if he's not built for heroics, he's hardly a societal drone. I just don't understand his contentment. I want to be part of something greater than myself, greater than managing a fertilizer factory in a one-horse town. I want to uncover truth and change the world."

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A/N:

Don't we all.


	6. Identity: Future

Disclaimer: While this story _does_ belong to me, all the bits that aren't creative license and authorial presentation _do not_. So… yeah.

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Stranded

Part 2: Identity

Chapter 3: Future

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"_I suppose," she conceded. "But it's not that simple, is it? Dad's just a man, and even if he's not built for heroics, he's hardly a societal drone. I just don't understand his contentment. I want to be part of something greater than myself, greater than managing a fertilizer factory in a one-horse town. I want to uncover truth and change the world."_

"And you will," he assured her. "Tell you what, why don't we keep the partnership going even when we get back to civilization? You can be Truth, I'll be Justice," Oliver teased. "Together, we'll change the world, make it safer."

"Sounds like someone's been reading too many Warrior Angel comics," Chloe smiled.

"Warrior Angel? _Please_," he scoffed, "we'll be way classier. Besides, shouldn't human beings defend their own planet instead of relying on aliens? Not that I'd turn down the assistance, mind you." Bringing a hand up to lightly tug on a strand of the girl's hair, he grinned. "Come on, Sidekick – you and me. Queen Industries has satellites – you can be my eye in the sky. My Watchtower."

"And what does that make you – Robin Hood?"

"Something archery-related, sure. Why not?" he shrugged.

Chloe shook her head. "You're getting _way_ too invested in this hypothetical."

"Killing me here, Watchtower," he groaned. "Now. You're the writer… So, I'm an archer that wears green. What name would I have?" She smirked. "No, not Robin Hood. Something original."

Running a hand through her hair, Chloe considered the question carefully. If – and that's a big _if_ – they ever did get off the island and _did_ – by some slight chance – moonlight as hero and sidekick… Oliver had the money to go all out. And the archery skills to back it up. He'd have a costume – no, suit – that's green and… leather, maybe? Chloe had to shake off that all too drool-worthy image before she could consider names.

"Maybe… Green Arrow?"

A full-blown smile transformed Oliver's face. He was handsome before but… smile in place, he was gorgeous. Blushing, Chloe was taken aback. "Sounds perfect, Chloe," he praised, ducking to land a kiss to the top of her head. She flushed deeper.

Standing abruptly, the girl brushed herself off, mumbling, "No problem." Then, expression controlled, she turned back to him. "Only a few more hours of daylight left – why don't you bring the raft in from the beach. I'll see if the fish are done cooking."

He stood. Giving her shoulder a fond squeeze, Oliver nodded. "I'll be back in a bit." He grinned, "And while I'm gone, you can think of what bedtime story you're going to tell me tonight."

"I'll give you a hint – it's off the Wall of Weird."

"I have a hard time getting into those stories. I'm too worked up about your periods of hospitalization to cheer on Clark as he defeats the Freak of the Week. Besides, I'm a liberal guy – the meteor infected are people, too."

"Alright, alright," Chloe allowed. "Meteor infected, _not_ meteor freak." Shaking her head, she laughed. "Even stranded on an island, political correctness is invading our daily lives."

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End file.
